Now, In Glorious Technicolor!
by starwanker
Summary: Eddie's just getting back into the swing of P.I. work, Roger's landed himself a new role, and Betty Boop's gone missing? The year is 1950 and all sorts of crazy new fads are pushing onto the scene, leaving some older toons plum outta work and even worse for luck. Leave it to Roger to get his nose into trouble again, and who else does he go to than his favourite detective?
1. Chapter 1

It's not like he didn't see it coming. Everyone did. With his reintroduction into the animated realm of crime and punishment, of course Eddie Valiant was destined to work with  
(or for, rather) Roger Rabbit again.

And again.

And again.

Some might call them a 'buddy-cop' duo. Others saw 'screwball partners' more fitting. Eddie scowled at both.

As his name gained its former notoriety on the streets of Toontown, the tabloids eventually got around to doing some spreads on the big Doom case.

Most were poor recaps of the human newspapers, but all were fairly flattering, nonetheless.

Save three major pubs that referred to Eddie as the new Dick Tracy.

In its own right, that would be a compliment. Quite a big one, for Eddie.

Except for the fact that each of these three-page spreads pictured his chubby face pasted over Tracy's body. The real kicker was that, right next to Eddie's ridiculous, disfigured drawing, Roger's own face sat over the bodies of (respectively) Pat Patton, Junior Tracy, and Tess Trueheart.

Tracy himself was outraged, Tess too. But that paled in comparison to Eddie's own rage. Roger bought every different issue he could and kept them in a drawer along with other, related newspaper clippings.

* * *

Despite everything, Eddie Valiant could not truthfully deny that he did, indeed, like Roger Rabbit. He untruthfully denied it all the time, but as time happened to wear on, his vocal refutes became less and less.

Eddie would be first to complain about Roger, but he would also be the first to stick up for the goofy rabbit.

But when was all said and done, he was still a bit of a grump. His humor had certainly taken a turn for the better, but only in the sort of straight-man fashion that it could with Roger as a catalyst. He always seemed to be the foil to any slapstick wackiness that wandered into his office (typically this wackiness sported two rabbit ears), almost like he was a magnet. Every screwball comedian needed a straight man, and in that way, Eddie was the Sinatra to Roger's Lewis.

Still.

Years of drowning his wandering thoughts with a little bit of bourbon and a whole lot of gin had a lasting effect; the knit brows and caustic scowl were like bad habits. Well more like genetics, but Eddie wore them proudly all the same.

Likewise, Roger's tendency to attract murderous script writers, corrupt directors, vengeful costars, maybe even a stalker or an undercover kingpin here and there, had sort of irrevocably pinned Roger to Eddie's office door. Maybe those reasons, more so than Eddie's comedic magnetism.

* * *

Eddie had other cases, sure.

Toon cases, mainly. It _was_ his specialty, after all.

But the fact of the matter was that Roger had supplied the last three months rent with his legal problems. As nice of a rabbit as Roger was, it's not like he wanted to.

The bust of Judge Doom opened up a whole new can of worms. Multiple cans. About seven to be exact. A lot simoleons were invested into the buying of offices, keeping people quiet, hired muscle.

The like.

And where there's money, there's usually mobsters. Crime bosses interested in the genocide of their own race was an odd find, but crime bosses interested in vast amounts of illegally laundered money weren't. Toontown kingpins weren't the brightest either. Roger's involvement, again, was more involuntary 'patsy' play than 'player' play, but the death threats were all the same.

After the debris settled a bit, the Toontown Telltale decided to paint Roger as an unsung hero, claiming:

 _ **'Everyone's favorite, lovable lagomorph inadvertently takes down cartoon big-bads of every sort'.**_

The exact headline was clipped to Eddie's cork-board, right below the picture of him, Teddy, and Dolores at Coney Island, and right above of him begrudgingly lifting a very pleased rabbit on his shoulders.

* * *

The comparisons to Dick Tracy and Pat/Junior/Tess turned into Nick and Nora Charles. Eddie had stopped being surprised by anything at that point, and Jessica got a kick out of seeing Roger done up in classic femme fatale drag. She kept the magazine in a drawer along with other, similarly compromising photos.

All in all, both Eddie and Roger had full schedules since Doom. Eddie had a nice, steady flow of income, a renewed status and respect amongst both human law enforcement and toon citizens, and best of all, he had Dolores back. That was certainly a nice perk.

Roger...well, Roger had a lot of stress. Something he wasn't used to. It was safe to say he wasn't having as great a time, but he couldn't really complain. The 'scandals' aside, he'd already had a decent job as Herman's second banana. As an A-list toon, Roger Rabbit was a household name; fame and money hadn't been a desire of Roger's in a long time. He had good friends, and Jessica, of course.

And yet, the news of his involvement had bolstered Roger's career higher than he could've ever dreamed. While ambition was never one of Roger's strong suits, laughter was, and there seemed to be a direct correlation between his own success as a performer and the raucous laughter of his audience. He was hesitant to take up all of the contract offers at first, but with a little help from Jessica and Eddie picking through stacks upon stacks of paperwork; he was soon swimming in solo comic deals, a plush toy line, a new cereal brand, and even an upcoming film.

Roger had been offered the leading role in Harvey. Universal Studio's rendition was originally going to star James Stewart as Elwood, but Henry Koster saw Roger's face in the Sunday paper and envisioned a version wherein the _rabbit_ saw an invisible _man_ , rather than the other way around.

Moreover, he wouldn't have to pay a toon leading role as much as a James Stewart leading role.

All in all, it had been a very eventful three years for Eddie, Roger, Jessica, and Dolores. And it was about to get a lot more busy.


	2. Chapter 2

Although he was already more than well off, Roger's extra cash helped fund the successive bookings of Eddie's private eye. The most recent case involving Roger's newest exploit as Harvey.

* * *

"Believe me, Eddie. you can't be less happy about this than I am."

One of the few instances Roger ever rolled his eyes and sighed was when the question of his wife's fidelity was brought up. He tossed down a small pile of tabloids onto Eddie's desk from where he was seated in a nearby Lazy Boy. They hit with a smack, sliding across the scratchy wooden surface till they plopped onto Eddie's chair.

Eddie held back a yelp. He spun around, hand clutched to his chest, and glared at Roger.

"How many times I gotta tell you, don't do that!"

Eddie slammed his office door shut. He placed his hat on a hook and walked past Roger toward his desk.

"Do what?" The rabbit moved his gaze to Eddie, barely lifting his head off from the support of his hand.

"Surprise me like that! Dolores is already on my back all the time with all of these stupid, two-bit diets. Telling me I'm gonna die before I'm fifty. I don't need you sending me into cardiac arrest just to prove her right."

"Gee, Eddie, ya think you'd be used to that by now." Roger commented nonchalantly as he slipped a yellow-gloved hand into his suspender pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. Eddie momentarily forgot his near death experience as curiosity got the best of him. The case was too small to fit a whole carrot inside, like the kind Roger normally carried around.

"What're, you smoking now? Those must be some scandalous rags you got there." Eddie poked his thumb to the magazines on his chair. He scooped them up and took a seat.

"Naw," Roger popped the case open and pulled out a baby carrot, "I'm trying to cut back on 'em." he mumbled morosely as he slipped the case back into his trousers. Eddie didn't bother asking why a rabbit would cut back on carrots.

Instead, he started looking through the magazines in his hands. It didn't take too long to stumble across Roger's problem.

Eddie had guessed that he'd find a few grainy pictures of Jessica walking hand in hand with some big shot anthro or B-list human celebrity. That was the only real reason he could think of to cause Roger to be in a mood (and by mood, any mood not involving ear piercing yodels or random tap dancing).

Instead, the centerfold featured a giant likeness of Betty Boop, her big, round head pushed up against a furry, white chest, her pearly white arms wrapped around a skinny middle, and her soft-boiled eyes rolled up towards a whiskered face longingly. The picture looked convincing enough, though doctoring photos was certainly easy. All you had to do was paint over what you didn't want to be seen, or, in this case, who.

"You and Betty? No way."

Roger didn't answer, he slid down into his seat and stared at the ceiling, baby carrot poised in his hand like a dangling cigarette.

Eddie looked back to the expose.

 _"Is one of Toontown's biggest stars"_ Eddie read aloud, suppressing a chuckle. Roger shot him an annoyed look, _"getting cozy with one of Toontown's oldest––_ hey! Betty ain't that old."

"Keep reading, it gets worse."

 _"Toontown insider sources inform us about Roger Rabbit's secret love life?"_ Eddie looked up from the magazine with a look of disgust, "What the hell is this drivel?"

"You're telling me." Roger muttered. He tossed his carrot back and drew another while Eddie watched. "Jessica's pretty upset."

"What, she believes it?" Again, Eddie had to try to suppress his amusement. Roger didn't seem to notice.

"No, a'course not." He dismissed with a wave of his hand. "But it looks bad! I mean we only just now got the media off those pictures of her with Marvin Acme–– and how many years has it been? Now this!"

Eddie raised a brow, but held his tongue. He never figured out how Jessica managed to explain her reasoning to Roger about her setup with Acme. Then again, knowing Roger, the rabbit might not have cared. And knowing Jessica, Eddie surely wouldn't have.

"Well, that's the limelight for ya. If I were you, I'd be flattered they picked Betty instead of Clarabelle Cow."

"You find this funny, don't you?" Roger peered from over the armrest lazily.

"For once, more than you."

"Well that's all great and well," the rabbit jumped upright and dived over onto Eddie's desk, his arms spread wide and palms planted downwards, "but you gotta make them stop!"

"Here we go. Never stop by just to say hi?"

Eddie peeled Roger from the desk and tossed the magazines back into his lap. He bent over and opened a drawer, pulling out a can of non alcoholic beer. He grabbed another can and titled it, along with his head towards Roger, although he already knew the answer. Roger silently declined with a subtle nod. Eddie stood back up and popped the tab, taking a second to savor the useless beverage with a sniff and a sip. He placed his beer down and then took a seat once more. "Didn't even ask how I was doing, nothing about my wife. Tsk tsk."

"Oh come on, Eddie! P-p-p-please! It's a big deal. I can't have something like this a-circulatin' right now; I've got a big offer coming up from Universal! I've been under a lotta hassle lately." he said with a pout, taking the time to glance over at Eddie and poke his bottom lip out an inch further for his sake; "'Sides, you know I'm good for it!" Roger begged.

Eddie eyeballed him from where he sat.

"I dunno, Rog. This is the type of thing you talk to your agent about. Hire a spinster. A PR person. Or, maybe in your case, go to a shyster. I'm pretty busy."

The rabbit sat upright and readjusted in his seat. He plopped down and crossed his arms, looking more like a three-year-old than a full grown buck.

"I don't have an agent! Who do you think I am, Herman? And I don't even know what a shyster is! Are ya really too busy for me?" Pulling his best, pathetic smile, Roger clasped hands closed to his chest. His blue-lagoon eyes sparkled and he fluttered them. One dear drooped. Although unseen, Eddie knew his tail was quivering, ever so gently. That never failed to make Eddie's eye twitch.

"Especially for you."

Roger broke the pose and rolled his eyes, "Fine," he gave a cocky smile, digging a gloved hand into his overall pocket.

"Too busy for this?" The toon tossed a wad of human cash into the detective's lap. Without missing a beat, Eddie pocketed the cash and took out a notepad.

"Alright, now we're talking. Toss me those mags." Roger happily complied. "Which publishers are running these articles?"

"The Telltale and Insider. Two issues of each."

"They know bout this big Universal deal of yours?"

"Not that I know of. Nobody should as of yet, the terms are still sorta up in the air. I'm a runner up against James Stewart for the lead, in case you were wondering." Roger quirked his eyebrows in a manner that could only be described as self-inflammatory.

"I wasn't, but congratulations, nonetheless. What role?"

"Harvey!"

"The invisible rabbit?"

"Nope, just rabbit. The man's the invisible one this time, if everything goes right." Again, Eddie couldn't provide comment save a sidelong glance.

"Any other reasons to run a story like this?"

"Not that I can think of." Roger answered as he tapped his bottom lip.

"And you're sure these're the only two pubs running this?"

"For now."

"Okay, simple enough. I go talk to Delancey Duck at the Telltale, rough him up a bit, and that's taken care of. Then I'll stop by and see Tallulah O'Tule at the Insider HQ. Play up the ole' Valiant charm, and she'll talk to the editor for me." Eddie accentuated this with a slight ruffling of his collar. "Piece of cake. Meanwhile, you should go talk to Betty. I'm sure she's got something to say about this." Eddie crumpled the sheet of paper he'd been writing on and tossed it into the wastebasket. He was already halfway to the door when Roger spoke up.

"Uh, Eddie?" He ventured in a squeak. The private eye turned to see a very sheepish rabbit, looking like he had just spilt a glass of milk. "That's the other thing. I haven't seen Betty in ages. No one has."

"What do you mean?"

"She just, hasn't been around, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I haven't seen an old friend in a while? I've been busy!" Roger shrugged, "I only realized just yesterday that no one's been able to get a hold of her. I tried her phone, her flat. Nothing. Asked around and hear that nobody's talked to Betty for a few weeks. Last time me or Jessie really saw much of her was after the Doom case. A few months afterwards, she quit her job at the Ink and Paint selling cigars. Jessica didn't even get to say bye. She up and left without telling anyone." Roger paused to let out a sigh as he averted his guilt ridden eyes. "I feel just awful about it." He emphasized 'awful' by slumping into a full body slouch so deep his ears coiled onto the ground.

Eddie nodded. "Yeah, I can't say I've been keeping tabs on old friends either." A few bar friends came into his mind's eye, but he quickly pushed them out, "I guess I'll try and check up on her. Doesn't she live close to you?"

"Not no more she don't. I heard she moved back to the BW, and without telling us! It's so unlike her. I wouldn't even bother trying. You won't find anything."

"Back to the BW? I wonder if she's having a rough time." Eddie shook his head.

He hated seeing toons put out just because of fad changes. He never saw that happen to people, just gimmicks. People could change, they could adapt. New technology meant new clothes, new jobs. Toons? Advents put them out for good. Film overtook theater, talkies kick out silents, television killed comics, and now color productions. What was next? Toons couldn't help the way they were drawn.

"I'll stop by anyways. Betty's my friend, too. Besides, what do you think PI's do anyways? I'll find her. I'm guessing you don't got her new address?"

"Nope." Roger shook his head, swinging his ears along with it with about a second delay. "Good luck. Anything you want me to do?"

"Yeah, clear out of my office." Eddie said as he walked toward the door. "And don't be here when I get back!" He yelled as an afterthought.

"Hey Eddie!" Roger poked his head from out the office. "Just one more thing!"

"Wha'?"

"How're you and the wife?" The last thing Eddie saw before the elevator closed was Roger's absurdly happy smiling face.

"Never better."


	3. Chapter 3

The Black and White Burroughs were always a depressing sight.

Quiet too. The drab colors, or lack thereof, the sad faces, and the decaying buildings always made Eddie wax nostalgic in the worst way.

Even then, he'd take the BW over the Silent Sector any day.

"Hey pal, got a question for ya."

Eddie stooped down to drop a few bucks into the awaiting tin cup of a street peddler. The peddler looked up excitedly and grabbed his musical box. The problem was, he was the monkey, and there wasn't a fat Italian man to do the dancing, or vise versa. The handle was too big for the tiny toon, but he continued to pull and yank on the contraption while Eddie patiently waited.

Pity got the best of the PI and he finally gave the monkey a gentle push. He flew forward, sending the handle whizzing around in a circle, and its operator along with it. Music notes poured out from the box, along with a few idle flashes and accompanying sound effects: _tink, plink,_ whrr _,_ —but no sound.

"Huh, would you look at that. A silent silly. What're you doing in the Black and White, bud?"

The monkey leaped from the dizzying blur and landed in a theatrical pose, his noodly arms outstretched over his head. He held an intertile adorned with overly stylized cursive and four corner borders. Eddie leaned forward, squinting his eyes to read:

 _"Work's picked up; moving onward and upwards!"_ Eddie knew he wouldn't get any more out of him. Silent toons had a tendency to keep their sentences short and clipped. It was more work for them to produce intertiles than for a comic toon to inflate a speech bubble.

"Huh, good for you. Now about that question."

 _"Shoot, mister!"_

"You know Betty Boop?"

 _"Do I? Everyone knows that gal, especially 'round here."_ This was followed by another card, simply reading: _*wolf whistle*_. Eddie chuckled.

"Know where I could find her?" he asked.

 _"No sir, she moved out to the colored parts of town."_

"Not so."

 _"How'd ya mean, mister?"_ The monkey scratched his head with his card.

"Moved back here a while ago, according to what I hear."

Eddie straightened up and looked around. He didn't know his way around the BW like he did the rest of Toontown. He briefly considered paying the monkey to physically walk him to Betty's...that is, if the monkey knew where she used to live...and if she had moved back to her old abode, like Eddie hoped.

"Do you remember where she used to park it?"

 _"Yessir, down by the Attucks Theatre; the strip!"_

The monkey waited a beat before switching his cards.

 _"That's where all the greats bunker down."_

Another short pause, and he switched cards once more.

 _"Just follow this street till you hit Wurlitzer Way."_

After two beats, Eddie turned to walk, but the monkey chopped him behind the knee with another card. He wasn't finished.

 _"If you take that for a few blocks north, you'll hit Town Center"_ , Eddie looked at his wrist. There wasn't a watch, but the gesture helped convey his growing irritation, _"and find the Attucks!"_

This time, the monkey seemed to have misplaced his intertile. He flipped through his used ones, pawed through a few littered on the street, and then finally, with a snap, he checked in his vest pocket.

 _"It's on the corner of Victrola Venue and Lumiere Lane."_

After a few awkward moments, the monkey fished out another, smaller card, that read: **_"STOP."_**

"Atta boy. Thanks for the tip. Here's another pickup." Eddie tossed a few more crumpled bills into the monkey's cup. Judging by the few other coins in there, Eddie hoped he was having an off day.

 _"_ Thanks _mister!"_

"Don't mention it." Eddie said as he walked away.

Nothing got him down like seeing out of work, out of luck toons.

Or sitting through subtitles.

It wouldn't be so bad if there was something for them, anything. But in L.A, the only work for toons was in entertainment. Very few new jobs sprung up in Toon Town, seeing as most service jobs could be fulfilled by the machinery, appliances, or automobiles themselves. For instance, no one was needed to run a bar tap, since the chances were the tap was an animate, living toon. It could serve beer all by itself. Laundromats were run by the washers and dryers, and car washes did the washing themselves. Sometimes even the cars would bathe.

The few jobs available filled fast, and so many toons wound up looking for work in the human half of town. Of course, little was there for them, unless it was with a studio or syndicate. The few toon waiters or meter maids Eddie knew of had a rough time. Toons worked for about half of human minimum wage. Human's weren't always too friendly either, and even when they were, there was always that subtle condescension.

That sort of _disbelief_ that something, someone, drawn with pen and pencil, made of ink, paint, and a bit of celluloid and paper, was less of a person than a human.

An expectation for them to be funny and cute and stupid.

To be less.

Even when Eddie hated Toons, he prided himself on treating them like sentient, living, breathing beings. Beings that he hated.

Looking up from the pavement only reminded Eddie that there wasn't many options for those beings. He was glad he was human.

As long as technology continued to innovate, there would be toons deemed 'outdated'. The most sickening part was that some 'artists' still insisted on creating these defunct toons. The market was saturated.

It was cheaper to skip painting a toon, or only filling them in with monotone. Too many undiscovered cartoonists insisted on cutting corners, or dedicating their work to a long lost art form, considering their mute, monochromatic creations 'classics'.

Developing a voice took time, and time required money.

Ink wasn't cheap, either. Celluloid, maquettes made from armature wire and polymer clay, hours and hours of storyboarding; all things needed to make a simple idea into a living cartoon took time and money.

Illegal toon presses would pump out half made drawings, pouring them onto the streets in look for easy work. The dirtiest factories would treat the half-baked cartoons with fixative instead of water treating them...needless to say most wouldn't make it through a rain storm.

With nowhere else to go or no one else to answer too, the manufactured toons would report their meager earnings back to the factory boss. Some wound up in crime rings for quick cash.

They were naïve, so impressionable, and so eager to follow orders if it meant free food and a warm spot to sleep.

One toon couldn't make much by itself, but a hundred could make a pit boss a load of simealoeans.

Although the DIP was banned, it still found its way around. Once cops caught wind of the presses, the bosses would threaten to dip their toons in order to keep them silent.

Most baffling, a majority of these factory bosses and their pits were toons themselves. Eddie busted a few not too long after the Doom case, mostly in part to their financial ties to the judge. Apparently there were a number of toons willing to sell out their own kind, but no form of exploitation would ever compare to the atrocities of Doom himself.

Eddie shuddered at the mere thought. He grabbed for the inside pocket of his jacket without thinking. Finding no bottle of Jack Daniels, he opted to pull out a pack of cigarettes instead.

He popped a stick into his mouth, held a cupped hand to the lighter and inhaled.


	4. Chapter 4

After meeting with Eddie, Roger decided to do a little detective work of his own. It wasn't the wisest decision on his part, but so long as he was out of Eddie's office he figured he was doing something right. So there he stood, in front of a newspaper stand right outside of Toontown, absolutely dumbfounded.

 _"You gonna buy something or just stand around scaring customers away?"_

A fat, pink man scowled overtop the newspaper he was reading. Once he got a good look at Roger, his demeanor changed.

"Hey, ain't you that goofy little rabbit guy? My wife and boy love you!"

Roger didn't answer. Normally, he'd be more than happy to meet a fan. But right now, his eyes were planted on an entire row of magazines adorned with his face. Planted right next to (and sometimes over) Betty's. The catcher? She was colored. Ivory pink skin, rosy red cheeks, fire truck lips, straddling Roger's own furry, white ones.

"Say, lemme get your autograph, if you don't mind."

The stand owner nearly hurt himself scrambling to get a pen and paper. He settled for a red marker and the first magazine within reach.

"A-and here, I'll let you have whatever rag you wanna take, on the house! How's that?" He looked up to Roger with a hopeful expression, a complete 180 from his initial reaction to a toon customer.

Roger still didn't respond. The stand owner frowned. He followed Roger's line of sight, starting from the gawking rabbit to his own stand. Recognition dawned over his face.

"Hey! That's you!"

He looked down to the magazine he happened to be clutching, intended for Roger's autograph.

"And that broad, that's that one gal...what's her face."

"Betty Boop." Roger finally answered in a short breath.

"Yeah! I love that little doll. Cutest thing I ever seen. I used to watch her shorts when I was just a boy. Thought she was the coolest act this side of the Mississippi. You know her? What am I saying, a'course you do! You two seem to be getting pretty cozy, huh?"

He gave Roger a gentle jab with his elbow. He immediately regretted the action, his bone hitting rib cage without much padding. Roger stumbled back a bit, the gesture catching him off guard as he was still a little too dazed to make a much of a retort. He quickly shook his head, trying to clear the stupor from his mind. A stray fog cloud cleared from his ears, mixing with the cumulonimbus above head.

"Uh, yeah I know her–– wait! But, but not like that!"

Running a hand over his ears, Roger swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed with the motion.

"I mean... _jeepers._ These stories sure do travel fast."

"You're telling me. Just last week all they had were blurbs about the death of monochrome. I'm pretty sure I still got a few sitting around in the back issues."

The stand owner rummaged through a stack by his register, pulling a magazine from the bottom. Sure enough, Betty's face was on the cover, this time pressed up against Felix the cat's in a chummy hug.

"See? Same broad and everything. She ain't on that cat like she's on you, though!"

Roger's ears perked up. Grabbing a few different issues, he turned to the man.

"Mind if I take that black and white one?" he pointed to the magazine in question.

"Sure thing pal. Just sign this one here and they're your's!"

Ears shooting up straight like two exclamation points, Roger broke into a smile the size and shape of a melon slice.

"Really? Gee, _thanks!"_

"Like I said, on the house!"

The owner mimicked Roger's grin and handed him the magazine along with the marker.

"And whom should I make these out to?" Roger asked, regaining a bit of his good humor.

"My wife and kid! Leslie and little Stewie. Oh, and uh, my other kid. Big Stewie."

Roger finished his scrawl by slipping his glove off, rubbing the marker over his paw, and stamping it onto the magazine cover.

"Right-o, Big Stewie! Thanks again!"

He handed the marker and magazine back to the stand owner and grabbed his hand, pumping it up and down in a vigorous, full body shake. Big Stewie admired his own paw print as Roger bounced away.

* * *

With this development under the way, Roger figured he might as well check in with Eddie...but looking at his watch (well, he didn't wear a watch, but looking to his wrist and then to the sun which promptly blinded him, and only then to a nearby clock tower) it had only been thirty minutes since he left Eddie's office.

Shoving the magazines into his hammerspace, Roger bounded off towards the Toontown Insider. It was right on the outskirts of Toontown, close enough to L.A. that crazier humans might wander over, and saner toons might venture out.

He might not know Tallulah personally, but he had a friend who did.

The thought of beating Eddie to the punch made Roger beam with pride. He loved detective work, and helping Eddie in way, shape, or form got Roger excited as HECK! Looking behind himself, Roger spotted the thought clouds he had inadvertently produced, floating upwards in disjunct unison due to his hopping. The last cloud contained an exclamation point resembling a major league bat and ball in size and shape, both falling from their places and bonking a stray toon bear over the head. Roger gave a windshield wiper wave and smiled, yelling an apology as he made his way down the sidewalk.

* * *

Right outside of the Insider HQ was a payphone. Again, a thought cloud formed as Roger pictured calling his wife and reporting his findings to her. Although he knew she wouldn't blame him, the idea still made his stomach churn. He pictured her purple, gloved hand reaching through the phone and ringing his neck with the cord. Again, a completely unfounded worry. Jessica had a temper, but it was rarely directed at Roger, even when, on the rare occasion, he did something to cross her.

But the idea of not telling her made Roger feel even worse. It was almost like lying to her, and Roger couldn't even _imagine_ ever doing **that**. He'd rather face her than have her find a magazine stand like he had. It's what he would want (and often received) in the reverse position.

With a decisive gulp, he walked up to the payphone and pulled out a nickel along with his blue book*. He dialed their home number (one he still could not memorize), looked to the sky, and then lowered his ear to the phone. The coppertone rung.

It rung again.

It rung one more time.

And then,

 _"Hello?"_

Jessica's caramel smooth voice sounded over the line. Roger's heart skipped a beat.

"H-hey Jessica, how's it going?"

 _"_ _ **Roger?**_ _Hi, honey bunny! Is something the matter?"_

"Nope, just checking in with you! How's your day going, lovecups?"

 _"Good so far, I've been balancing the checkbook all morning, but I just can't get it to stay on my nose!"_

"You've always had the cutest button nose; keep trying dear! Maybe balance it on your forehead?"

Roger smiled at the thought. He was never very good with numbers or equilibrium, so Jessica did all the balancing.

But then, there was a silence.

 _"Roger, is there another reason you called?"_

Roger had to smile again. She knew him so well. His smile dissolved into a small frown, and he found himself fiddling with one of his ears.

"Well, actually Jessie, there is." Jessica waited patiently over the other line. He could almost see her blank, cool expression, just waiting for him to continue.

"So uh...you know those, um, those magazines?"

Quiet.

"T-the ones with—"

 _"The ones depicting you in a scandalous love affair with our mutual friend Betty? No, I don't seem to recall."_

The rabbit wilted. He had to remind himself that the sarcasm wasn't aimed at him, just the situation. He shut his eyes and recalled that dark time where he had to face those pictures of his Jessica sitting with another man, a man he respected no less, in a rather incriminating position. He had trusted her. In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, he had trusted his wife, and he knew for a fact that she trusted him.

 _"Heheh,"_ he let out a humorless chuckle, "yep, well, I went to go see Eddie like we had discussed, and he said he'd go talk to some of the editors at the magazine and maybe look for Betty." Roger shifted the phone onto his shoulder (a hard feat for someone with virtually no collar bone). With both hands-free he pulled down on his ears.

"I wanted to help so I thought I'd go talk to Steve down at the Insider and see if he knew anything but on way I stopped by this newspaper stand and _found a bunch more of those nasty magazines and stuff and I got really upset and this guy wanted my autograph so I gave it to him in trade for a few of them but he also gave me an old one saying that black and white cartoons are dying out and-Betty-was-on-the-cover-with—"_

 _"Roger, Roger, honey, Roger!"_ Jessica's voice broke through his frantic mile-a-minute rant. _"Sweetheart, slow down. You said you found more magazines about this whole mess? "_

Roger nodded, forgetting that his wife couldn't see him. It seemed Jessica assumed this because she continued.

 _"Well, I'm not happy that this is getting out everywhere. I mean, where is the foundation for this story even coming from?"_

Roger didn't answer.

 _"But, I want you to know that I'm not mad at you."_

"You're not?" Roger squeaked, relief flooding him. He already knew that she wasn't, but it certainly helped to hear it.

 _"Of course not, honey lamb I'm just as upset as you are, but not at you. Never at you."_

The rabbit squirmed, melting into a goofy smile and releasing his ears to clasp his hands together down by his waist. He kicked a large, floppy foot at the ground, and his now free ears formed a slight heart above his head.

"Gee, thanks, Jessie. You've been really supportive."

 _"Not as supportive as you were during that awful Doom fiasco."_

 _"_ Pssah _,_ that was nothing, lovecups."

Jessie laughed, a sound like twinkling piano keys. Roger's heart fluttered, this time out of different kind of nervousness.

 _"Oh Roger, always so modest. Well honey bunny, I'm gonna let you go. I think talking to Mr. Steve will be a good first move in resolving all this. But be careful not to overstep Eddie, okay? And send both of them my regards!"_

"Will do, dearest, and thanks again for taking this so well!"

 _"Of course, darling,"_ she paused to let out a soft breath, _"I love you."_ the headset distorted her hum with an electronic crackle, but it sent warmth over Roger all the same.

"Love you too." he said through an ear to ear grin.

 _"Bye bye."_

"Buh-bye."

A moment's pause.

 _"_ Well _aren't you going to hang up?"_

 _"Nooo,_ you hang up!"

 _"Nuh-uh, not until you hang up."_

"Nope. No sir-ee, I won't until you do."

 _"Well then, we'll be here for a—"_

The line went dead. Roger retracted his head from the phone as if it had spit Dip out at him.

"She hung up on me!"

 **"You musta' run out of time."**

 _"GAH!"_ Roger dropped the phone and jumped about four feet into the air.

Coming down, he landed right into the arms belonging to the offending voice.

A cheery, canary yellow face beamed before him.

"Hiya, Roger!"

"Steve! Holy guacamole, you scared me! Now I know how Eddie feels." Roger added as an afterthought. He beamed back at the squirrel, their respective smiles pulling enough wattage to replace all the light bulbs in Vegas for a night.

"Sorry about that." Steve, a fellow anthropomorph about the same height and similar build to Roger, set the rabbit onto the ground and outstretched him noodly arm for a customary, over-enthused, Toon handshake. Roger was all the more happy to oblige him.

"It's been too long! How the heck are ya!?"

For s split second, Roger felt the same thread of guilt from his earlier conversation with Eddie run through his heart again. He hated neglecting friendships, because he loved people! And he had never had the problem before... _until_ now. Trying to keep the same smile from falling off his face, Roger pushed forward, deciding to make up for lost time.

"It really has! I've been super busy at the Studio, and with Jessie, and that whole Judge Doom trial!" The entire way through, their water-well pump handshake continued.

Steve's ovular eyes widened with each reason, his pudding brown pupils bouncing along with Roger as the rabbit explained. Anymore jumps and they'd have their very own career in a sing-along musical.

"Keeping busy's better than the alternative! Glad to hear everything's doing better after all that. I've seen your name in the paper's a lot lately."

If Steve was blissfully naive, then Roger was ecstatically oblivious. What could've been a slight, and what should've been a solid entry point into deeper conversation only produced more pally smiles and handshakes.

Of course, Steve wasn't referring to anything other than the multiple crime busts his friend seemed to be involved with. Or so Roger assumed.

They carried on that way for a few more minutes outside of the Insider; Roger recounting his numerous near-death experiences and adventures to his counterpart, until finally, Steve invited Roger in for some coffee.

Roger declined, opting for tea instead.

"So, buddy, what brings you to this side of Toontown today?" Steve asked as he set down a mug of steaming Earl Grey onto the coffee table. He held a white, styrofoam cup of coffee for himself and tentatively took a sip as he listened.

"Well, Steve," Roger began, "I hate to visit on business, but I wanted to talk to you about the magazine." he admitted.

"No problem _whatsoever!_ I'm all for business! What about?" Steve was one of the few toons to ever vocalize that exact phrase.

The rabbit fiddled with the seam of his overalls before plunging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a few magazines. He laid them on the table. Steve leaned over to take a closer look.

"Uh, a few days ago, there were maybe two of these out. One from the Telltale, the other from the Insider. Now, all of these other p-publications p-put out these..." Roger tried not to frown, or get angry, but it was just as hard as trying to alliterate 'p's' without stuttering, _"p-p-pretentious peddles of p-p-prime muckraking!"_ Luckily for Steve, Roger couldn't think of any synonyms for that particular phrase. The squirrel wiped the coffee table clean of saliva before looking back up to Roger.

"Huh. I don't...exactly know about that. Lemme take a quick look." Steve reached down and plucked a magazine up, his big round head, eyes, and mouth forming matching O's as he laid his gaze upon the cover.

"Oooh. That's, that's not good." Without even turning the cover, Steve gently placed the magazine back down and faced his friend with a grave look. "I'm so sorry, Roger. I honestly can say I had nothing to do with this, and I certainly don't know who has. Talulah's just got me running files to Anaheim. I don't deal much with editorial. You're telling me that the Insider published a cover story about you and Betty? A few days ago?"

"Yes. The first one came out on Sunday."

"And the Insider was first?"

"Telltale."

Steve sat back and steepled his nubby paw-fingers, averting his eyes and chewing on his lip with buck teeth as he thought.

Unlike Roger, Steve didn't wear clothes (save the occasional bow tie, tie, hat, or weather permitting, coat). His simple anatomy was like Bug's in that way, but his stylized shape matched Roger's in the coke bottle form of his torso and hips up to his narrow top. He slouched down in his chair to cross his very squirrel-like arched legs, causing his left foot to reach down and bend onto the floor, and the right to loom over the coffee table. His large, bushy tail twitched pensively over the chair's arm. Roger finally decided to take a sip of his tea as he waited.

Steve broke his pose and stood.

"Okay, I'm going to go talk to Tallulah, you wait here." He took a few steps forward, then turned back, looking apologetic, "Normally I'd have you come in but she's been kinda testy lately. Busy is all. Honestly, Roger, I can't even tell you how sorry I am about all of this, but I'll try and get to the bottom of it. I swear it!" He valiantly declared, a paw to his chest and one in the air. "I'm sure Tallulah know's what's up!" And with that, the squirrel hurried behind two grand, oak doors. Two shut doors.

Roger believed Steve. He had always been a good friend, and overall an extremely trusting toon. They had known each other for quite awhile, and Roger was very good friends with Steve's artist.

After a few long minutes, Roger heard a door shut. He turned in his chair to see Steve, scurrying back towards him. He looked even more apologetic.

"Tallulah's with a client. Big case. I gave her the rundown while she was on hold over the phone but it seemed like she had no idea what I was talking about. I know we keep a ton of copies around here somewhere. I'll search for Sunday's issue and show her when she gets off. I know she'll want to help, but as of right now, she's pretty hung up on the phone."

"Any idea how long she'll be."

"Could be ten minutes, could be three hours. Sorry, pal." And he seemed it. If Roger was one for comedy, Steve was a toon all about theatrics. His downtrodden, sloped shoulder frown was almost mirrored by Roger, but he still managed to smile good naturally.

"It's okay, thanks for trying."

"I'm just her secretary, after all."

Both toons stood. Steve lead Roger outside.

"It's been swell catching up with ya! Take care!"

"Same to you, Roger."

"Oh, and Jessie says hi!"

"Will do! Tell your boss lady I say the same!"

With that, Steve scurried back inside, and Roger started back down the street. He stopped at the pay phone and considered giving Eddie a ring. Surely he'd reach a dead end in the BW and head back to his office by then, right? And he'd definitely want to know about the new stories, with Betty in technicolor no less!

Shrugging with his ears, Roger hopped towards the payphone and pulled out another nickel. He didn't write Eddie's office number down in his phone book, and while any normal person would remember it after having to use it so often, Roger wasn't normal. He dialed what he remembered and put his ear to the piece.

 _"Hella?"_ a voice wheezed.

"Jeepers, Eddie, you're sounding rougher by the day!"

 _"For the last time, you idiot, I'm not Eddie! This isn't Valiant and Valiant. This is Lenny's Butcher Shop and Delicatessen."_

"Lenny! Long time no speak! What's it been? Two days? How're the kids!?"

 _"I don't have any kids. Stop calling me, Roger."_

The dial tone buzzed in Roger's ear. He shrugged it off and hung up the phone. He'd just speak to Eddie back at the office.


	5. Chapter 5

The Strip was the epicenter of the BW; the bustling, hustling venue of the roarin' 20s back when Vaudeville and music hall weren't considered career killers. Flappers and mobsters and movie stars shuttled in from all around the world to see the black and white toons perform at the Attucks Theatre. Back then, it was called the Strip because of the late night leg shows. Thirty years later, it was known as the Strip because of all the comic strip characters that would loiter around the corner.

Just like the monkey had instructed, Eddie found the landmark Attucks sitting on the crossway between Lumiere Lane and Victrola Venue. And what a sad sight it was.

What was once a castle, shining in round, low watt bulbs and roof corners poised with architectural shingles and deco crowning, was now a sagging, dilapidated ghost of it's former self.

Toontown's city council, made up of three measly toons who answered to L.A.'s human council, had recently proposed a bill to restore the Attucks as a historical landmark, in hopes to bring tourism and revenue back to the district.

No go.

Apparently the turn of the century, two wars, prohibition, the advent of color and sound, and an entire wave of feminism wasn't enough to induct the Attucks Theatre into the Los Angeles hall of fame.

Fifty years of culture and art down the drain, and Eddie Valiant stared at the sudsy remains.

He had never visited the Theatre. Most of his time spent in the BW was quick and devoid of any sightseeing...mainly due to the lack of sights. He only ever went in on business, and even then it was rare because most black and white toons couldn't afford his services, let alone afford to live a lifestyle that warranted hiring a private eye.

Eddie swallowed any pity he had for the achromatic toons slumped against the Theatre and decided to ask one where Betty resided.

He picked a dumpy looking dog to approach. The pooch seemed harmless enough, his lazy, smiling eyes rolling up to view the P.I. as he neared. He jumped to attention at Eddie's feet and saluted in the shakiest stand-to Eddie had seen since V Day spent with Dolores's veteran grandfather. He immediately realized he made another mistake. The toon seemed to be operating at 12 frames per second.

 _"Ho."_

"Great, and he's a silent." Eddie brushed aside the oversized intertile waving under his nose. "Listen, Spot, I'm looking for Betty Boop's place, mind you helpin' me?"

"Who are you calling a silent?" The dog broke his pose and cocked his head.

"Me?" He poked a chubby index finger into his chest and smiled. Eddie might have started at the sound of his voice, but it lagged about four seconds behind his actions. Halfway through his gesturing, a nasally, some what effeminate British accent repeated the dog's mouthed words.

"Huh, so you can talk. Mind givin' me directions, then?"

 _"Aye."_ And intertile flew into Eddie's chest. He tossed it away.

 _"Verbal_ directions?"

"That I can do, too!" The dog nodded excitedly and ran around in a circle, standing to attention once more. Right when he finished, his words sounded. "I was in the reserves, you know?" Eddie had to wait another three seconds for the next half of his sentence.

"Yeah, so was half the States, me included. So where's Betty staying at?"

"Name's Bonzo, by the way." The dog stuck out his paw. Eddie bent down and gruffly shook it.

"Betty." He repeated.

"Nice to meet you, Betty!"

"Wha'— no, the _name's_ **Eddie**. I'm looking for Betty Boop."

"Oh, yeah, Boop! She moved!"

Eddie stood and took a moment to look skyward. He took note of the cartoon clouds, a few thought clouds and speech bubbles floating around here and there, and then took a deep breath. When he looked back down, Bonzo was still there, staring up at him with a blank, expectant smile and empty eyes. It took Eddie everything not to reach down and strangle him.

 _"She moved back."_

"Where?"

"Here."

"Here?"

"Yes, she moved back here. Same place."

"Okay."

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Eddie realized Bonzo was done speaking.

 _"WHERE DOES SHE LIVE?"_

"Who?"

"Gah!" Eddie turned from the toon and threw his hands up. He hated that type of shtick, though he couldn't be sure whether the toon was trying to be cute or just senile. Really, he should've anticipated as much, knowing Roger so well.

He looked around for another toon, any other toon, but they all seemed to have disappeared. He turned back around and stormed up to Bonzo, who had went back to his seat, back against the wall. He grabbed by the scruff of it's neck and hoisted him to eye level.

"Betty Boop. Where does she live. Where did she used to live?!" He spat out between clenched teeth. Days like this made him wonder why he quit drinking.

Bonzo opened his eyes fully, his expression changing from buzzed to alarmed. He stuck his arm outward and pointed across the street.

"Third floor, apartment 2c."

Eddie dropped him to the ground, leaving the dog to rub at the back of his neck in confusion.

"Thanks. Crazy toon."


	6. Chapter 6

Just like the Attucks, Betty's apartment complex was comprised of peeling paint, dusty windows, and crushed dreams. Cobwebs littered the corners. Eddie got his foot caught in a tangle of one, catching him dirty looks from the group of elderly widow spiders knitting them down the hall.

Apartment 2c was unspectacular. The door seemed no more or less worn than any of the others, and there was even a welcome mat outside of it. **_Boop Boop_** ** _Be_** ** _Doop_** it read.

"So this is the right place?" Eddie raised a hand to knock, but stopped at the sound of high heeled shoes clicking against tiled floors.

"I wouldn't even bother." He turned to see a woman: short, curvaceous, and animated, walking towards him. Each step bounced her hips out to the left, out to the right, her thighs kicking from beneath her short red dress and pintering off into dainty heeled feet in a straight line, one in front of the other. He ankles bent at an alarming angle; it was a wonder how she even managed to walk.

"Red Hot Riding Hood."

"It's just Red." she corrected. "And Betty's not home. She hasn't been for quite awhile." Red raised her forearm and pressed it against the wall, leaning her weight into it as she eyed Eddie. "I wouldn't bother."

Eddie lowered his fist.

"Oh yeah? You her friend?"

"You could say that." She batted her long, black lashes. Eddie knew Jessica well enough to not take the look for anything more than that; a look. Though he did feel his face heat, if not just a bit.

"Stopping by to pay respects?"

"Visiting other old friends. You?"

"Just doing the same." Despite Red's advice, Eddie gave Betty's door three hard knocks. The femme fatale shifted, crossing her arms as she raised a perfectly plucked brow.

"She won't answer; she's not even home."

"Then where is she?"

"What makes you think I know?"

 _'Some help you are'_ –– is what Eddie wanted to say. Instead, he gave Betty's door another three wraps. Red batted her lashes once more and moved on, sauntering past Eddie and disappearing down the hall. He heard her voice call after someone named Frankie, a door creaked, and then two sets of footsteps, both clicking before disappearing out of earshot. Once he was sure they were gone, Eddie bared his shoulder and rammed into the door. It took three tries, but he finally barreled through and into Betty's apartment.

Which was completely empty.

 _"Wha?"_

It was dark, but through the light spilling in from the door, it looked immaculately clean. No chairs, no sofa, not even a stray paper clip remained. He checked the locks. Not a scratch. The windows were bolted shut, with dust collecting on their sills behind the thick, wooly curtains. Not Betty's style in the least.

Eddie had two options. Talk to the landlord or phone the Toontown police. Becoming a shut in was one thing. Vanishing from the face of the earth was another. Paired with the welcome mat, Eddie smelt coverup.

If he associated with the landlord and things went sour, he might be held accountable in some way shape or form. It had happened before, and the TTPD wasn't very fond of Eddie.

He decided to give them a call and disappear before any cops showed. The last thing he needed was to get caught in the crossfire questioning. He'd leave their work to them, in the meantime, he needed answers from the Telltale and the Insider.


	7. Chapter 7

Roger was about ten minutes from Eddie's office by foot. He didn't drive often, on Jessica's request. So that was out of the question. And he wasn't particularly fond of public transportation— nor it of him. Confined, dirty spaces, and a hygienic, hyperactive rabbit never mixed. He'd been banned from Red Car before the Cloverleaf fiasco.

Roger didn't mind walking, or hopping for that matter, so he leapt off in the direction of L.A.'s mixed sector. Before he could get very far, a brown Plymouth pulled up to pace him on the street. A honk caught Roger's attention and he squinted through the tinted windows to see Eddie.

"Hiya! I was just going over to see you!"

"What for?" Eddie already had a sneaking suspicion. He pulled the car over to the side of street and parked. Roger opened the passenger door and hopped in. He pulled the new magazines out of his overalls and shoved them into Eddie's face.

 _"These!"_

Presented with even more magazines as evidence, Eddie begrudgingly took them and gave them a once over, but a once over was all he needed.

"Betty, in _color?"_ He mused aloud. Roger nodded his head so fast it dissolved into a blur. "Since when?"

"Since today! Look at Sunday's cover." Roger moved the other magazines aside, revealing the black and white photograph of Betty with Felix. Eddie gave it a closer inspection.

"This is shopped." Unlike the pictures of Roger and Betty, the featured picture was a photograph rather than a painted rendering. Toons could be painted in anywhere, their shadows added over top the background to make it seem like they were actually there, interacting with their surroundings. Indistinguishable from actual photographs of toons. It was odd seeing as how easy they were to fake, these photographs were something entirely different.

"Huh?"

"Take a look." Eddie handed the magazine back over to Roger. He pointed at the bottom left corner. Roger cocked his head and squinted.

"I'm not seein' anything."

"There's a faint white outline around Betty; neither of them cast shadows on the wall behind them, either. Those are separate photographs, cut and pasted together. Why any editor would be dumb enough to let this print is beyond me."

Roger's eyes widened. How hadn't he caught that?

"What about the colored ones?"

"They look real enough to me. Could be drawn on, I can't be sure. They're like the ones you showed me earlier. I was just heading down to the Telltale to talk to Delancy; now I got more ammo." Eddie started his car and pulled back off onto the street.

"I was coming back from the Insider!" Roger chirped. Eddie gave him a confused look.

 _"What?_ Why?"

"I know a guy who works there, and I wanted to help with the case!" The rabbit explained, bouncing up and down in his seat. "He's a real swell toon, you outghta meet him sometime!"

"Did he know anything?"

Roger's bouncing abruptly stopped, causing the car to jitter and Eddie to brake a little harder than he would've liked.

"No. He tried talking to that one lady you mentioned earlier, Tallulah, but he said she was busy." Roger shrugged, palms up, "He said he'd try and find something out for me though."

"Well that helps. Listen, you wanna help out, I got two jobs for ya."

 _"YOU DO!?"_ Roger clasped his hands together, brought his knees to his chest, and crossed his big floppy feet. Even his ears spiraled into a tight knot. Eddie flinched back, waiting for the rabbit to explode. _"Oh boy, oh boy tell me what they are, tell me!"_

"First of all, don't _do_ that."

Roger unwound, sat up straight, and placed his hands neatly into his lap. He shot Eddie a polite smile.

"And second of all, you need to stick to what I tell you. Run things by me first, you hear?"

Roger nodded.

"Anything you say, Eddie! I'll be your eyes and ears, but only if you say so!"

"You know Red Hot?"

"Riding Hood?" The rabbit leaned forward and cocked his head, swishing his ears along with the movement. One smacked Eddie in the face. He shooed it away and turned to give the toon a dour look, like a father reprimanding a rowdy three-year-old. Roger didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. I saw her at Betty's." The P.I. continued, "She good friends with her?"

"In the BW?" Roger asked, baffled. "I don't know her near as well as Jessie does, but it sure seems odd that she'd go down there. She's pretty new."

"That's what I was thinkin'. She was visiting someone else, some guy, but she stopped and talked to me for a bit. Told me Betty wasn't home." Eddie shook his head and lowered his gaze onto the steering wheel. "Once she left, I busted in—"

"You broke and entered inta Betty's apartment!?" Roger's hangnail eyebrows shot about a foot above his head.

"––but nothin' was there. Everything was gone, like no one'd ever lived there."

"W-was is ransacked?" Roger asked. With a heavy sigh, Eddie shook his head and shrugged.

"Not even. It was too clean to be a loot job. No robber woulda been that thorough, and even the TTPD wouldn't take that long to respond to a break in. The door was locked and I couldn't find any signs of lock picking or attempts at breaking in through the windows." The white rabbit lowered his ears until the dropped down over his forehead along with his orange tuft of hair.

He faced forward, his large, blue eyes reading across invisible lines written on the windshield.

"She's gone."

"Looks like it."

"But––" Roger sat up, his ears perking up along with the rest of his body, "but what if it wasn't a break in. What if it wasn't a crime?"

"That she left? That's along the lines of what I've been thinking. And it might have something to do with this case of yours."

Roger cocked his head and scrunched his nose.

"Really?"

"Maybe. It's the only lead we got." Eddie said as he pulled the car over once more.

They'd reached the Telltale, a dumpy looking brick building that didn't stand out much compared to it's bouncing, singing counterparts. Roger almost seemed hesitant to enter.

"What's the matter, the business too serious for you?" Eddie held the door open, looking annoyed. He'd dealt with enough toon logic for that day, but he couldn't quite bring himself to scold Roger just yet. The rabbit wilted, looking like a kicked puppy. He backpedaled a few skirmish steps, twisting his hands around like he'd just spilt a glass of milk. "What?"

"I don't trust buildings that don't smile."

Eddie could only stare.

"Roger, we were just in one not a few hours ago. My office?"

"Yeah but human buildings can't smile. Toon ones are a'pposed to!"

"Fine," Eddie grumbled, "you're scared of faceless buildings, fine. You still wanna help me, right?"

Roger nodded eagerly.

"Find out who's responsible for the picture on this cover." Eddie tossed Roger the black and white magazine. "Report back."

The toon caught it clumsily, but not after letting it wallop him in the face, and then stood ramrod straight, snapping his lanky arm into a salute. Within a second his posture folded and Roger looked up to Eddie with great concern.

"How am I gonna do that?"

Eddie walked over to the rabbit and pulled the magazine from his hands. He flipped it open to the front page and pointed at a line of text.

Cover photo and centerfold spread credit: **Carol Masters, 1950, DeGreasy Studios.**

Roger's mouth formed a perfect O.

 _"You're a genius Eddie!"_ he hopped from foot to foot, almost making a circle around the detective before Eddie threw a hand out and grabbed Roger by his ears.

"Calm down, will ya? If I didn't know any better I'd think you never opened a book before."

Roger scrambled in Eddie's grip, swatting at his hands until Eddie released the toon. He fell to the ground with an 'umph', and then gave a pouty look up at the P.I.

"You said you'd stop yanking my ears."

"You said you'd cut the 'antics'."

"Fine," Roger's huff broke into a sly smile, and despite Eddie's warning her nuzzled his head against the detective's side, looking up at him expectantly, _"but it's gonna be hard not to once I tell you why I'm so happy!"_ he finished in a sing song voice.

Eddie grumbled, shaking his arm to unlodge Roger from his spot.

"Fine, I'll bite."

 ** _"I KNOW CAROL!"_**

Roger, in a rare display of minding personal boundaries, skipped tugging on Eddie's coat lapels and danced around the man instead, throwing his arms up in joy.

"Masters? The photographer?"

"The one and only! She was _MY_ photographer back before I was with Maroon!"

Eddie had to smile at that, for once bringing Roger along might've proved useful.

"Huh, that's convenient for us. Alright, go talk to her and see what you can find out. Meet me back at the office. And who knows, maybe you'll earn that R. Rabbit Associate label you keep writing on my office door. It's a pain to wipe that shit off."

Roger's beaming smile blinded him for a few moments. Eddie covered his sight with an arm, and only removed it once the radiant yellow had disappeared; but so had Roger, leaving nothing but a trail of rabbit shaped dust in his wake. A lazy word balloon floated down before Eddie. It wasn't often the rabbit chose to communicate through them. This one read: _I'll earn my badge yet!_ The P.I. shrugged; at least he was enthusiastic, if nothing else.

Eddie wished he could say the same about himself.


	8. Chapter 8

It was still early enough that Roger could warrant a surprise drop in on a human (it was never too late to do so to a toon!), but for one he hadn't seen since before Doom? Well, that seemed to be a social faux pas…and contrary to popular belief, Roger did know a thing or two about them…he just didn't really care.

Carol was a different story however. She had been his photographer before the toon had made it big, in fact she's the one who got him in touch with the people at Maroon Studios, and in doing so was inadvertently responsible for his career today. They'd lost contact shortly after he moved from his old studio, DeGreasy, over to R.K. Maroon's stable, but it wasn't Roger's doing. He had a slow start at Maroon, whereas Carol seemed too busy to field his frequent phone calls, and so they slowly trickled to a stop. Still, just as he had dropped in with Steve only to ask about 'business', Roger felt funny doing it to Carol. First and foremost because it involved 'business', something totally foreign to Roger, but also because for once, he felt unsure how to approach. Hesitant almost, not quite shy, but reserved at the idea that maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to see him.

It was something he had discussed with Jessica many a times, especially during his earlier days at Maroon. Why wouldn't his first photographer take his calls? When he did drop by to see what was up, she was cordial, but brief. Brunches turned into coffees, which was already quite a downgrade for someone who didn't (read: wasn't allowed to) drink coffee. And soon those too devolved into clipped greetings at her door. Roger wasn't one to give up, but apparently Carol was, and it got to the point that she was either never home or conveniently at DeGreasy whenever Roger showed up, or she simply stopped answering her door, be if home or office.

Jessica had put it so Roger could understand: "Roger, sometimes people move on from things that remind them of the past, even when they're good things. I know I wouldn't wanna see any of my old friends from where I worked before the Ink and Paint, but I remember them quite fondly." He didn't quite get it, but she had kissed him and offered to go on a walk to their favorite little bakery, the one with the giant carrot cake slices, and so he forgot about it just like that.

But right now, there was no carrot cake.

The rabbit gulped and fished out his address book once more, pulling a bit of colored clown flags along with it by accident. He shook himself loose of the thing, ignoring the car horns and screeching tires as it billowed out into the street, and hopped over to a payphone. He was running real low on nickels, nevertheless, he popped on into the coin slot an carefully dialed Carol Master's number.

* * *

Eddie sat far too low in a far too soft, and far too itchy chair as he watched Delancy Duck waddle back and forth in front of him. The shaggy carpet was a garish, vomit green, which went quite well with the bile orange tweed armchairs and the shit colored Chesterfield out in the lobby. Delancy was the kind of toon who liked to match his suit to his surroundings, and so of course his thick tweed suit jacket looked like something a dog might've upchucked after nabbing scraps of the family dinner off the table. He topped the look off with a chunky gold watch and so much hair gel slicked over his he'd fathers that Eddie could see the solidified substance, transparent and glimmering beneath the fluorescent lighting.

"Well, Mister Valiant, I have to say these are pretty serious accusations." The duck waddled over to his desk, one Eddie assumed was supposed to simulate mahogany, but looked more like it was made from the same cheap paneling that covered the walls.

"Accusations? You printed these issues. I ain't accusing you of nothin' Duck. I'm only askin' about the covers and stories."

"Yes and that sounds exactly like the beginning of every libel lawsuit we've gotten this past year alone. I'm not at liberty to discuss our sources, Mister Valiant, but I can tell you that they're tried and true, and this publisher, I am proud to head, acts as a messenger for these brave, anonymous souls. I urge you, as I do all of the celebrities and politicians we chose to shine a light upon–– to _not_ **shoot** the messenger."

After his little speech, Delancy rifled through his desk (which seemed to dangerously creak with each movement) and pulled out a particle board box with the word CUBAN stamped crookedly over the top. He pulled two out, but after a quick hand wave from Eddie, he put one back.

"Suit yourself. Now, I can't help you with eh, snitching per se, but I can let you know that we use the very same…er, confidant that The Toontown Insider does, at least when it comes to stories of… _romantic intrigue_." Delancy chopped the ends of his cigar and brought it to his mouth, lighting is and inhaling. A sickly sweet, musky scent filled the room, one that reminded Eddie of both honey, and a wet dog.

"Ain't that bad for business?" He asked.

"Not when those loose lips think ships, for the _highest bidde_ r. Problem is, we seem to have a rat somewhere in our ranks." Delancy said with scorn, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, that's not my problem. What _is_ , though, is how right before you go publishing stories about Betty cozying up to Roger, is that she seems to disappear. Know anything about that?"

Delancy opened his beak, and then closed it. He furrowed his brow, opened his beak once more, and then closed it. Eddie had him cornered.

"How about Roger? That source of yours have any ties to competing production companies?"

"If you're implying that our stories are merely published as some sort of–– some, some kind of––"

"You mean to say you take from the highest bidders to push agendas as well? No, I ain't saying that. But I can't say the same for this." Eddie held up the magazine featuring Betty and Felix, black and white as Max Fleischer intended. Delancy only stared. "This is shopped, poorly I might add, by a 'freelance' photographer who works for DeGreasy Studios. You hired for a job no one in your company wanted to, or could do. Shopped because those other, newer issues aren't."

Delancy lit up and seemed to procure a pen and pad of paper out of thin air.

"So you agree! I know you're a personal friend of Mr. Ra––"

"Ah! I didn't say that, Roger could very well be drawn in, but those Betties don't look like no paint job." Delancy sighed, putting his pen and paper down and sitting back in his chair.

"Alright, let's say you're right. So what? Is that a crime, Valiant?"

"I'm no cop, but I am a friend of Betty's."

"And…I presume the rabbit is your client?"

It was Eddie's turn to be silent. Of course Delancy would know that, seeing as his magazine was one of the first to push the Dick Tracy and Tess Trueheart thing. Roger was gonna have to start looking for a different detective if he actually wanted to get anything done.

"My _client_ ", Eddie gave special emphasis to the word, "doesn't appreciate this kind of drivel going about, especially right now."

Ever the journalist, Delancy had his pen and paper readied once more.

"Oh, do tell!" "Uh-uh; I've said enough. I can see we're not getting anywhere with this."

Eddie stood up and dusted himself off. Delancy sat back, eyeing the man apathetically and puffing on his off-brand cigar. If there was one thing Eddie could say about Delancy, it was that he had the decency to not smoke a toon cigar in the presence of a human–– but apparently not enough to carry a conversation without muckraking.

"Thanks for nothin Delancy."

"You're _more_ than welcome, Mister Valiant, and please, if you've any more juicy info to disclose, my door is always open."

* * *

Eddie took a smoke break outside the Telltale, considering his next move. The meeting was a bust, and the stench of cologne and cigar fumes had given Eddie a headache.

Roger was off on the Carol Master's lead. He could start asking high profile toons, as well as low profile ones, about Betty's whereabouts. Felix would be a good start. Maybe follow the Red Hot connection. Check the papers for anymore news, or actually get around to dissecting the articles Roger had provided him. It would be a pain to narrow down and find the authors, especially if Delancy was on the defense, but it may be easier over at the Insider. If his instinct, or more accurately–– hit gut, was correct, he would be seeing Delancy again very soon.

He and the duck had a sweet n' sour history, vacillating between rough interrogations and uneasy pacts.

Delancy was the the definition of a fair weather friend and had the uncanny ability to roll with threats…much like water, off of a duck's back, be they legal or physical. But Eddie wasn't the kinda guy to involve the Toontown or L.A. police depatment, in fact they often found themselves competing at the scene of the crime. Thankfully there wasn't a scene, _yet_.

After a few puffs, the P.I. decided to check back in with Roger, and then drop him off at his house. If he was lucky, he could ask Jessica a few questions about Red Hot Riding Hood, and kennel the rabbit.

For the time being, however, he needed a drink.


End file.
